Again, But Better(98)

Our gazes meet, and we both break into laughter. I drop my attention back down to the six-pack I unveiled.

I gesture to it, beaming. “What the hell is this? Does past you work out?”

He shakes his head with an embarrassed smile, and I run a hand over the chiseled-ness before slamming the water back on. He shivers and pulls me even closer. I’m so full of flames, I feel like my skin would glow in the dark.

“You should always be shirtless and in the rain,” I tell him.

His mouth comes down on mine, and I fiddle with the belt on his jeans. “Only if you agree to the same dress code,” he manages between kisses.

The water stops again. He slams it back on without breaking away and sweeps me off the ground again. He presses me against the cold wall, and slowly I start to slide down. He tries to steady me. I try to steady myself like a spy in a chimney. My boots squeak against the tile, the struggle.

“We can do this,” I say between gasps.

“We can do this!” he echoes.

It’s a very tiny three-walled shower. Everything’s slick now, and we fumble like drunken sailors. Laughing, he takes a step back. We flail without the support of the wall. Mid-kiss, his back hits the tile behind him, and I yelp as we topple slowly downward, along the wall, tile squealing, until we’re huddled in a clump on the floor. He hunches forward, snickering, and I’m convulsing silently, doing my best not to wake up the universe with the sound of my laughter.

The water stops again. I bite my lip to contain my giggles, and shiver in the absence of warmth.

“You know what?” He narrows his eyes.

“What?”

He pushes some hair out of my face. “We’re getting a bed,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows. “Where will we find this mystical bed?”

He takes my hands, helping me off the floor.

Five minutes later, we’re running down the hallway, shivering, hand and hand, toward the lobby. My hair sprays water everywhere, the wetness of my bra soaks through my shirt. My boots squish against the floor. Pilot looks like he got pushed in the pool with his clothes on; his jeans are heavy and waterlogged.

We stop short in front of the teenager behind the front desk. Freezing, I press up against Pilot’s side, still smiling like a moron. He wears his own goofy expression.

“Hi, we’re going to need an empty room,” he says.

The young girl looks up from her magazine, eyes sweeping over us in confusion. “Um … a private room is going to be more expensive—”

I shiver against Pilot. He runs his hand up and down my arm before pulling out his wallet. “We want the room.”



* * *



I swing open the door to a room full of empty beds. Pilot pulls me inside, and I kick the door closed behind us.





17. Shining



I wake tangled with Pilot in one of our four beds, his breathing still soft and even next to me. I still feel like I’m sparkling inside and out. I’m tempted to make a Twilight reference, but I refrain. I’ve never had a night like that with Melvin. I never had dates like these with Melvin. I’ve never felt a shred of this with Melvin. Seriously, what was I doing with Melvin?

Our bags sit in the corner of the room. Pilot went back up to get them from our locker in the shared room last night. I slowly slip out of the bed and scurry off to the bathroom to get dressed and brush my teeth.

Pilot’s eyes crack open as I return and sit on the edge of the bed. He lifts the thin, translucent sheet up in invitation. I slide in and snuggle up next to him.

“Good morning,” he opens, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” I say quietly.

“That was a really great three-date extravaganza.”

I smile. “I’d concur.”

One side of his mouth kicks up. “You’d concur?” he teases. “What’s the Trip Advisor verdict? How many stars?”

I prop up my head on my hand. “Mmm, what do you think?”

He smiles lazily and holds up ten fingers. He blinks them in and out twice.

I cackle, dropping back down onto my back. “I concur.”



* * *



Babe and Chad are on opposite sides of the waiting bench near the barren front desk.

“Hey,” Pilot and I greet Babe. She raises her head, looking fabulous as usual with her red lipstick and white beret. Chad continues to stare at the floor like the charming chap he is.

“Hey, let’s go grab a cab,” is all Babe says before bolting for the door. I follow her, roller bag in tow. It takes the same long ten minutes I remember to find a cab. Babe loads in first while the driver chucks our luggage into the trunk. Before we left our room, Pilot and I had a heated debate about whether or not Chad would insist on a separate cab this morning, and whether or not he’d have a bruise on his left cheek.

“He’s not going to have a bruise!” I laughed.

“He wailed a little too loud for there to be no bruise,” Pilot snickered, as he slung his backpack up over his shoulders.

“Five pounds says he still whines about wanting his own taxi,” I challenge excitedly.

“Ten pounds says he’s definitely going to whine about wanting his own taxi.”

“That’s not how bets work!”